


keep your hands ablaze

by Elisye



Category: Dangan Ronpa 3: The End of 希望ヶ峰学園 | The End of Kibougamine Gakuen | End of Hope's Peak High School, New Dangan Ronpa V3: Everyone's New Semester of Killing
Genre: F/F, M/M, also hi Get Ready For No One To Be Happy, guess who saw a comic of the ndrv3 kids with dr3-style ng codes, like at all. even with the entire cast. absolutely no one
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-30
Updated: 2017-08-30
Packaged: 2018-12-21 16:00:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,431
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11947674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elisye/pseuds/Elisye
Summary: —it's the only way to stay alive.(or: the killing game under a different set of rules, and one of its many conclusions.)[ NDRV3 SPOILERS PRESENT ]





	keep your hands ablaze

**Author's Note:**

> this is starie's fault im iN PAIN

 

"—Now, let the new semester of killing commence!"

the bear crackles wildly behind the screen, nearly cut-off altogether when the glass suddenly blips into radio silence and a deadly unease. the group of sixteen have their eyes and their stares frozen - still on the screen where Monokuma just was, on something beyond this room, on someone, on each other - withholding heartbeats each that might inevitably fade or murder.

you stiffly look down at the bracelet on your wrist, a part of your mind murmuring. (drugs? hypnosis? nonsense? absurd, absurd, absurd - i can't and don't want to kill or die - _but_ \- ) 

reality shifts, vividly and sharply settles, and you do your best not to shudder. (just a dream, yes yes yes?)

a light tap of the metal, and red characters begin to glow - your NG code, which you take only a second to read. to your left, Akamatsu checks her own bracelet, struggling to keep a pitiful sound from escaping her, but of course can't because you can hear it all - the gradual build of fear, inevitably turning into a simmering desperation that will no doubt lead to a death in the coming while.

your lungs might as well be crushed now.

 

 

 

desperation into suspicion into condemnation.

Amami narrowly avoids being killed, but Harukawa still pays for trying. her code isn't hard to figure out - it flickers with irritating beeps just a second before the poison gets injected, a simple-worded _fail to assassinate someone every hour_  that gets a stunned silence and Ouma cheerily going, "Well, at least that's one down like a fly already!"

that naturally gets more attention on him than necessary. Akamatsu follows Maki with an iron ball that doesn't quite hit the mark. Ouma, for all his crocodile tears, still looks a tinge remorseful at her corpse.

the group splits after barely being held together. Momota tries to find order in heroics and speeches, and manages to keep half of the survivors so far with him in a barricaded room before the hour is up. at least, you think idly, there is some sliver of security, with a good handful of the group in one place. but once the sedative fades, Toujou is found dead in front of a monitor, entangled in a web of knives and torn lace. the barricade remains untouched.

and so it loops - desperation into suspicion into condemnation.

and people will keep dying, no matter what.

 

 

 

Iruma, followed by a concerned Kiibo, had been the first to split off from the beginning.

Ouma was next, leaving with no one to accompany him.

you can only wonder if they're safe. Kiibo is, certainly - you run into him in one of the ruined hallways, huddled on the floor, looking as if he wanted to cry. but he can't, he can't, he can't, even if he tried and wished and yelled for it. you look into the next room over, and find Iruma lying on a ratty sofa, hands layered in an obvious mimicry of peace and sleep. Kiibo doesn't explain what happened, and you don't push him for it. you only need to check the inventor's wrist to find a glaring _someone loves and appreciates you_ across the bracelet.

"This is beyond being cruel." Amami says - whispers bitterly so, because words keep constantly failing everyone.

you shift your weight onto a different leg, look weakly down at your own bracelet, and try to bury the conscious weight of time and dilemma on your back. along with words, that too, however, you fail at.

but you keep at it. and as you try and try and try - Hoshi dies in front of another monitor, Yumeno and Chabashira die in each other's arms with the most fleeting smiles in the world, and Momota chokes on both blood and poison in his mouth as his NG code hisses _find seven dead people_ in red.

the clock keeps ticking, and ticking, and ticking.

 

 

 

at some point, inevitably of course - you reach the fourth round of this short, brutal game.

the idea of having a group ends here. you're on your own now.

you find yourself walking aimlessly down the halls, in search of something, in search of nothing, but certainly close to grasping some sort of end. almost, surely almost, being alone here is a perfect excuse to impale yourself onto something without anyone being any wiser - but your thoughts have to halt there, when a sudden blur of white comes into your vision and Ouma grins down at you from nowhere.

"Killed anyone yet, Saihara?"

your breaths stutter. "I— N-No."

he pouts, and doesn't need to say he's disappointed to be disappointed.

"—Still!" the boy bounces a bit on the heel of his shoes, arms casually crossed behind his head as he regards you with a random smile. you want to run away from here. "I'm surprised you lasted this long! I thought you'd be dead ages ago."

you fidget with your bracelet. it always feels cold. (like guilt.) "My NG code isn't... that easy to accomplish."

Ouma stares quietly. you quickly avoid meeting his eyes, and give the biggest, most transparent distraction in the world by talking about the deaths you know so far. the other boy takes a long beat before playing along, his face devoid of charm or cheer - there's a slight monotone as he rattles off Shinguuji's death by a paranoid Angie and Angie's death by Gonta, who didn't even want to kill the artist, only stop her from going further and failed—so miserably, his NG code of _participate in someone's death_  bit back as a viper would.

your heart sinks at all of that. and keeps sinking, sinking deeper - Ouma breaks off for a moment to remark, not randomly, "It's getting close to the fifth round now. Do you ever wonder who'll be dead when you wake up?"

you shake your head.

he hums a sound, and you hear his footsteps going down the other way, disappearing too slowly.

 

 

 

you find Amami not too long after, and can't help but blurt out useless apologies.

he watches you for a moment, before exhaling a lost, suppressed breath. "I guess we never were supposed to have a chance to win, in the end."

there is pity, but there is also understanding. you leave, hurried, with a meager blessing - and walk to where you can only be.

 

 

 

 

 

 

"You're a bad liar, but maybe that's a good thing. I don't like being deceived, after all!"

"Deceived, or lied to?"

"Deceived, Saihara. Not all lies are deceptive."

"...But isn't this deceptive?"

"Is it now?"

"Trying to pretend we didn't know, trying to pretend it doesn't matter now - when it does, more than anything else."

"Well, like I said, you're a bad liar. You just can't hide the facts, unlike me."

"But then, were you lying to yourself this whole time...?"

"...Who knows now? It'd be a lie either way."

 

 

(only a few minutes left. you blindly reach out. Ouma hesitates, but gently curls his fingers along with yours, soon entwined together. you hear him murmur about trying to find a way out on his own, failing because there is absolutely none, and feel his hands tremble in sync with his voice.)

 

 

you fall asleep again.

 

 

 

 

as the sedatives wear off for everyone for the fifth time, in some part of the ruined building, there are two quiet red beeps.

_[NG Code: Ouma Kokichi survives to the fifth round. -- FAILED]_

_[NG Code: Saihara Shuuichi survives to the fifth round. -- FAILED]_

 

 

 

 

 

 

the screen casts navy light across the dark room.

Shirogane skims the report on her laptop, sighing at several points, before taking off her glasses to pull at the bridge of her nose.

she had hoped for better. if the next season's participants are going to make a splash on the ratings, they had to do better than what these basic test simulations were saying. never mind that the responsibility of molding everyone into fiction sits solely on her, that she'd be the only person getting any flak if the profiles she would later embed into them leads to lackluster deaths. even without such details, she has to make sure that the new people— no, the new characters, they have to be _perfect,_ no matter what.

(her eyes fall back on the report. certain events always, always happened. she can rewrite the scenario all she likes, but even this bare-bones calculation program knows they're human and can only be human—)

the intern puts her glasses back on, and reflexively hits the reset button.

the story will play out _correctly._

 

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Lexus Cyanixs](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11948712) by [Mistropolis](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mistropolis/pseuds/Mistropolis)
  * [world.execute(me);](https://archiveofourown.org/works/12315354) by [asterions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/asterions/pseuds/asterions)




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